


And the world was gone

by ElenyasBlood



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sad!Derek, comforter!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wasn't even startled by the muffled noises outside his window anymore. Over the last three weeks he had gotten kind of used to Derek's occasional visits, during which he sometimes spoke barely more than three or four words, just sitting quietly on the edge of Stiles' bed and watching the boy do homework or play video games until the sun came up.</p><p>  <i>But tonight seemed to be different.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	And the world was gone

Stiles wasn't even startled by the muffled noises outside his window anymore. Over the last three weeks he had gotten kind of used to Derek's occasional visits, during which he sometimes spoke barely more than three or four words, just sitting quietly on the edge of Stiles' bed and watching the boy do homework or play video games until the sun came up. He was a soothing presence and Stiles' previous feelings of inconvenience soon faded away, turning into something warm, like a ball of heat curling in his chest, and he quickly grew fond of the werewolf's quiet company.

But tonight seemed to be different. Derek didn't knock on the window, didn't climb into Stiles' cozy room or settle down on his bed. Something seemed to hold him back from entering and so Stiles decided to make sure everything was okay.

He set down the book he was reading, untangled himself from the headset and strolled towards the window, opening it slowly.

“Hey big guy,” he mumbled and was greeted by Derek's familiar, spicy scent and a pair of eyes, glowing steely blue in the darkness. The wolf didn't answer but continued to brood on one of the thick branches of the oak tree in front of Stiles' window, quiet and fixed to the spot.

“Wanna come in?” Stiles asked and ruffled his hair awkwardly. His mane was longer than it should be and it had become a bad habit to pull and tug the dark strands until they stuck out from his head like a nest of unruly twigs.

“No,” Derek replied quietly and shifted in the darkness, his silhouette barely visible under the shadow of the treetop.

“Okay,” Stiles murmured and scratched his cheeks, suddenly unable to cope with the situation. This was so much different from what they had shared the previous nights and the familiar panic of being ripped apart by long fangs and claws returned to the pit of Stiles' stomach. “You can stay outside; I don't mind big bad wolves sitting outside my window while I try to do homework, you know?”

“Which subject?” Derek asked quietly and the glowing azure faded away slightly, turning into astonishing hazel, blotched with golden spots instead.

“History,” Stiles replied and squinted against the sickle moon, watching the stars thoughtfully. “Korean War.”

“Great topic,” Derek muttered and shifted again. “I used to like history a lot. It was one of my favorites before my family died in the fire.”

Stiles' cocked his head at the lack of words and tried to process the words that tumbled out of Derek's mouth. The wolf never spoke about his past, _never_ had in all those months and years, and the boy felt both honored and intimidated as he witnessed it now.

“Is Mr. Taylor still on duty? He was brilliant,” Derek continued while the wind rushed through the leaves, causing them to whisper in the darkness like hundreds of mumbling voices.

“Yeah, still on duty, still a mean, old fart,” Stiles replied and bit back a groan as he shifted and the joints in his back popped painfully. The crisp autumn air danced across the exposed skin on his arms and neck and he shivered violently. “He likes to call us a lazy bunch of goof-offs as he wastes a whole period doing nothing but scribbling on his notepad while we're sentenced to work our asses off doing essay after essay.”

“That's exactly how I remember him.” Derek snickered, his hoarse voice fanning the heat coiling down along Stiles' spine. “He's a good one.”

“Yeah, if you're into slavery,” the boy hissed and put on one of his worn out sweaters, chasing away the cold.

Derek chuckled a little at his comment, a quiet and rattling sound in the depths of his broad chest, and Stiles shivered. He sat down on the ledge slowly, swung his legs out of the warmth of his room and settled down on the wooden board. He slumped his shoulder against the window frame, shifted himself into a slightly more comfortable position and lifted his eyes towards the velvety night sky again.

It was already October and the air was becoming crisper every day. It had smelled like snow today, in the early morning, when Stiles headed to school. Fall was on the rise and the boy could see it everywhere: in the changing of the leaves from a luscious green into purple and yellow, auburn and even violet, in the veil of gray overlaying the streets every morning and the stretching of the shadows in the afternoon hours.

Derek eventually spoke up again and his voice sounded thin in the darkness. “Taylor caught me cheating once.”

“You cheated at school?” Stiles choked out and braced himself against the window frame, dangling his feet against the siding of the house while gaping at Derek.

“Sometimes,” the wolf replied and shrugged, a rustling of leather against skin in the darkness. “I wasn't exactly a model pupil.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Stiles groaned and squinted against the shadows, tried to figure the look on Derek's face.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Now it was Stiles' turn to shrug at the lack of a proper response and he bit his lower lip, chewing on the soft flesh thoughtfully. “I always imagined you as one of the school stars, I guess.”

“School stars?” Derek grunted, shooting Stiles a quizzical look.

“Yeah, you know: super smart, super racy, super famous, Captain of the lacrosse and swim teams, everybody's darling – well not exactly _that_ , but someone everyone wants to be friends with. The cool, brooding guy in the leather jacket who gets all the girls.” Stiles blurted out and felt a rush of heat gushing through his veins, creeping up his cheeks.

Silence fell for a while and when Derek finally answered he sounded vulnerable and small as a child.

“You can't even fathom how terribly wrong you are, Stiles,” he whispered and inhaled deeply. “It's exactly the opposite, to be honest.”

“Ooh.” Stiles hummed, not exactly sure what to say, and continued to worry his lower lip between his teeth, sucking and chewing on the chapped flesh.

“I was _never_ famous- well at least not the way you think I was. It's true, _everyone_ knew Derek Hale, him and his terribly weird family. Those insane people, living all by themselves in the woods. Those snobs, the ones who mated, according to rumors, with their own children, the ones who always kept to themselves,” Derek spat out and his voice suddenly shook with rage. The warm hazel in his eyes flashed into steely blue again and a bloodcurdling growl vibrated in the wolf's chest.

“Derek...” Stiles whispered and his fingers involuntarily reached out for the slumped down shadow on the branch, wanting to touch and comfort, to feel and rub the pain away. But something in Stiles stopped him from moving away from the ledge and so he stayed where he was, clutching to the creaking wood under his body.

“Everyone knew that something was terribly _wrong_ with us and they kept reminding me that I was different _every_ single day.” Another deep-drawn inhale and the sound of teeth grinding against each other. “They called me names, rude things, even worse than sourwolf.” A mirthless laugh in the darkness. “And they stole my things. Books, pens, note pads, lunch, even my shoes. One day in November I went home with nothing but my socks on and I thought Laura was going to rip my head off. She told Mom and... I'll never forget the look of sheer disappointment on their faces after I swore I lost them while playing at the river after school.”

“Dude, I never knew,” Stiles whispered, listening to the blood gushing through his body, thundering in his ears. Every muscle beneath his skin was tense and his jaw clenched painfully at the image of Derek being bullied.

“Of course not, why would you?” the werewolf shrugged. "It's not something I talk about."

“It's just... you know, very hard for someone like me to guess, who's only familiar with you all muscled and... terrifyingly daunting,” Stiles replied, his throat incredibly tight.

“You think I was always like this? C'mon Stiles, you're smarter than that. I was ten years old and nothing but sinews and long limbs. I could barely coordinate myself while walking; sports weren't an option at all.”

“So no lacrosse or swim team, huh?”

Derek remained silent.

“Did you ever tell anyone about being... bullied?”

“I told Peter, but it only got worse. He was older than me, different classes, different schedule and he couldn't protect me all the time. And I didn't want him to. He was even more of a moron back then than he is now.”

“What about your teachers? Your mom?” Stiles continued and watched his knuckles turn white from his hard grip on the ledge. His heart raced in his chest and every fiber in his body ached to reach out for Derek, to touch and soothe him, to pull him against his own trembling chest and make him stop saying those horrible things.

“Would _you_ tell your mom that you're getting your money stolen from a bunch of guys when everyone in your family is supposed to have inhuman superpowers? Would _you_ admit to being punched face and stomach so hard you sometimes threw up in the middle of the hallway when your mom is the strongest predator within miles? Would _you_ have the balls to confirm that you're weak enough to be chased across the schoolyard until your legs give in while knowing that your body was actually _made_ for hunting? Would you?” Derek snarled.

“You... you were ashamed,” Stiles mumbled and it sounded more like a question. “Why didn't you defend yourself? Why did you never just, you know, wolf out a little and strike back?”

“It's not _that_ easy, Stiles.” Derek breathed out and he sounded defeated. “I'm a born werewolf, I could lift my oldest sibling before I could walk properly. I was _created_ with this inhuman strength and it took me until I was thirteen to learn how to control it. Being a werewolf is not something you can switch on and off, it's carved into your bones and only slowly do you learn to deal with it.”

“You were afraid to hurt them,” Stiles concluded and suddenly felt incredibly dumb for asking such a stupid question. He sighed quietly and tried to focus on the wolf, shoving away the need to soothe Derek's strained body and nerves.

“ _Of course_ I was. One scratch with my claws, one step too far, and I could've killed those kids. I was _responsible_ for them.” Derek's voice trembled as he continued. “I wanted to be a good wolf, I wanted it _so much_. I wanted to be a good pupil, a good son and a great guy everyone got along with easily. I wanted to do sports and play in the school's chess club, I wanted to get the girls' attention. I wanted to be... someone... _anyone_ but Derek Hale.”

“It's a good thing you're Derek Hale,” Stiles murmured and finally gave in to the aching want in his chest. He climbed out of the window, balanced his weight carefully on the thick branch as he crouched down to approach the wolf.

“I wanted to be like the other guys; a shred of normalcy in my life,” Derek continued and every single word blurting out of his mouth tore Stiles' heart apart. “I wanted to be a friend, someone people could rely on. But no one wanted a friend like _me_.”

Derek flinched as he felt the boy's hand on his shoulder and his body went rigid. Stiles felt the taut muscles under the leather jacket and was tempted to back off again, but he forced himself to go on despite the fear echoing through his body.

“ _I_ want a friend like you,” he whispered and traced his fingers towards Derek's neck, applying pressure on the hard sinews and tensed flesh.

“I don't need your pity,” Derek growled but didn't squirm away this time, pressing back against the soothing touch instead.

“It's not pity that I'm offering,” Stiles mumbled and settled his body next to Derek, brushing their thighs together carefully. Waves of heat radiated from the werewolf's body and seeped into his skin, fueled the mix of dull fear and comfortable warmth curling in his belly. “I'm talking about caring about each other and fooling around. And doing sports together, even chess _._ I'm talking about watching movies and skipping all the chick flick moments because _eew, gross_. I'm talking about trusting each other, Derek, about working hand in hand like a pack. And I'm talking about you paying for my food when I forget my money and never expecting to get it back, of course.”

Derek snorted and his voice was thick with sadness as he replied.

“And what does this whole ' _being my friend_ '-thing do for you?”

Stiles smiled to himself and trailed his hand a little deeper, rubbing his palm gently across the wolf's broad back. He traced the stiff muscles, soothed the fluttering nerves and sinews with his touch and was relieved as he felt Derek slowly relaxing.

“First, and most importantly, free food,” the boy muttered and sighed in easement as he listened to Derek's quiet chuckle. “Also I'd love to go around, telling every bully in Beacon Hills that my big bad wolf-buddy is ready to rip their throats out if they dare to touch me.”

“I wouldn't do that,” Derek clarified and slumped a little closer against Stiles' body, reveling in his familiar smell.

“Doesn't matter, nobody but us will know,” Stiles shrugged and finally felt confident enough to circle his other arm around Derek's chest. His fingers slipped beneath the leather jacket and fisted in the black tee, locked firmly with the soft fabric.

“You and me, huh?” the wolf whispered and leaned into the boy's hand. Stiles continued tracing patterns across his back, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“Yeah, you and me,” he reassured softly and dropped his forehead onto Derek's shoulder, taking a deep breath of that spicy scent he had grown so fond of. His feet dangled in the air on each side of the branch, casually brushing Derek's boots with every swing they made.

“Sounds good to me,” the wolf mumbled and closed the last gap between their bodies, nuzzling his face into the collar of Stiles' hoodie, hiding the tears swelling in the corners of his eyes behind the layers of soft fabric. They both sighed and stayed silent for a while, listening to their own hitched breathing and clung to each other for dear life.

“I'm so sorry about you getting trashed,” Stiles whispered eventually, his voice barely audible. He pressed his face closer against Derek's shoulder and his thumb rubbed across the wolf's chest involuntarily.

“Mhhn,” Derek whimpered into the boy's pullover and let Stiles shush him gently as he soaked the black material with a few scattered tears.

“It's okay, big guy,” Stiles whispered and palmed the twitching muscles beneath his hand a little harder, squeezing the flexing sinews and earning a deep-drawn sigh between the quiet sobs. “S'okay, you're fine.”

Derek whined softly and let himself be pulled even closer, slowly drowning in the boy's steady heartbeat. He was surrounded by Stiles, all his senses occupied with the overwhelming scent and touch of the boy and it felt _good._

“You're not going to tell anyone, are you?” he murmured after a few minutes of silent comfort and Stiles nudged his shoulder playfully in response.

“Course not, sourwolf.” he snickered and dragged his fingers towards the wolf's neck, kneading the sore muscles carefully, fondling the warm the skin with blunt nails. “To everyone else you're still the big _bad_ wolf; how does that sound?”

“Acceptable.” Derek breathed out and nuzzled closer against Stiles' neck.

“Mmhn,” the boy sighed and allowed himself a few more minutes of their shared closeness, before he slowly untangled himself from the werewolf's tantalizing warmth.

“Are you... going to be okay?” he asked carefully and watched the golden edges in Derek's hazel eyes glow in the pale moonlight.

“Some day,” Derek replied and rubbed his sleeves across his cheeks, removing the last traces of wetness from his face.

“I got your back,” Stiles promised and brushed his thumb one last time through the soft black hair on the back of Derek's neck before he moved backwards, ignoring the longing ache clenching his chest.

The werewolf nodded and threaded his fingers together in his lap, watching the boy curiously.

“Hey, are you hungry?” he asked and a little smile played around his lips.

“Always.” Stiles beamed and carefully straightened up, bringing his feet against the moaning branch again.

“Chinese?”

“Let me get my shoes and I'm in.”

“I'll wait for you.” Derek muttered and both of them knew, that he didn't mean their dinner date.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of the Hale-family being know as the strange people, the weird family in town is haunting me  
> since weeks. 
> 
> We all know Derek as the tough guy, all muscles and claws- but we also know about his horrible past, about being abused and used, being tortured and left alone; we know he is so much more than a brooding werewolf and a tough guy. 
> 
> So here we go. q_q
> 
> Beta'd as always by my amazing friend (and girl crush number one! xD) [Jess](http://madefrommemoriesff.tumblr.com/).


End file.
